


No Need To Be A Pussy About It

by SyndieLou



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Sass, College Blows, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, Domestic Avengers, Existential Crisis, F/M, Family, Finding Bromance, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Kid Fic, M/M, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Post TASM2, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Swearing, Teenagers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and a son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyndieLou/pseuds/SyndieLou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark has a son. Who totally isn't jealous of Peter Parker. Not even a little bit. Even though Tony and Parker spend all their time together. Superheroing. And doing science. And sassing one another. Nope. Definitely not jealous.</p><p>or: The long road Roosevelt Stark took to find a family in the Avengers, despite not actually looking for one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whoa There Legolas

**_Good morning Agent Barton._ **

“Morning JARVIS,” Clint replied automatically. “Where is everyone?”

**_By everyone I assume you mean the other Avengers, Sir?_ **

In retrospect, that should have been a red flag, but he was too focused on the fact that none of his teammates were in the kitchen eating breakfast to notice. In all the months he had been living in the Stark Tower, Clint had never been the first one to breakfast. “Yes JARVIS, that’s what I meant,” He clarified as he started making himself a bowl of cereal.

**_Agent Romanoff is currently on the seventieth floor, Doctor Banner and Mister Parker are still asleep, Sir has just woken up, and Captain Rogers should be down shortly. Mister Odinson, of course, is off world._ **

“If I am the first one up does that mean I have to cook for everybody?” He asked, not even remotely serious, after his mind supplied that ‘seventieth floor’ meant ‘gym’.

**_Captain Rogers would like me to inform you that he intends to make pancakes for the whole team this morning and welcomes you to wait for them,_** JARVIS said after a short pause, knowing full well that the archer had just poured milk into his cereal. ** _And Sir has expressed his dissatisfaction towards your culinary skills._**

Clint smirked at that, wondering just what words Stark used to express that dissatisfaction, but as he went to sit at the breakfast bar slash dining table, he couldn’t help but feel as if something was off in the room. No, it wasn’t just that his teammates weren’t here. He looked around, scanning the open kitchen and living room floor plan.

He was about to shrug off the odd feeling when he spotted a ratty duffle bag and a black backpack sitting on a chair near the fire place. He set down his bowl and went to take a look, not recognizing them as belonging to any of the Avengers. As he crept closer to the offending items he was shocked to find a sleeping form on their couch.

Instinct took over and in a second he had the intruder pulled up by their shirtfront with a knife to their throat - quite a way to wake up. Clint would know, having been there himself. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?” He yelled and then shook the guy for good measure. He was in his late teens, with dark hair, and wide fearful brown eyes. That’s probably just a reaction to the knife though.

To the kid’s credit he recovered quickly. “I suggest you back the fuck up. Unless you want to make like swiss cheese.” He said with a shaky voice, accompanied by an audible click. Clint looked down and holy shit the little fucker had pulled a gun on him! This was just not the agent’s morning. Of course Clint had him disarmed before he could even switch the safety off.

He heard footsteps to his left and saw Stark and Steve padding down the stairs. Seeing Clint pointing a handgun at stranger’s face immediately put Steve into team leader mode. “What’s going on here?”

“We’ve got an intruder.”

“Uhm, a little help?” The kid said. His eyes were still wide, but they began to shift around. He also began breathing heavily, obviously afraid. What the hell was this punk doing sleeping in their living room? Clint really hoped it wasn’t another stalker. Giant alien robots of death he could totally deal with; fangirls, not so much. “Apá?”

Stark walked round the couch to get a better view. When he got it, his eyes grew comically wide – not unlike the pair Clint was pointing a killshot between – and threw up his hands. “Whoa there Legolas” he panicked, “Put it down!”

“What?”

“So help me Barton, if you hurt him I will throw you ass out this window and see if you also have the wings of a hawk.” Stark threatened with an odd air of authority. “Put. The. Gun. Down.”

Clint leveled him with a dangerous look, but did as his teammate asked none the less. He tucked the (what he now registered as) Smith & Wesson into the back of his sweatpants. The knife was sticking deep into the retro coffee table – Clint having thrown it just before he took the gun off the kid. Stark was definitely going to bitch about that later. “You know him?”

“Jesus Christ,” the teen muttered.

“Yes, so back the fuck up.” Stark said, ignoring the boy.

_Oh god._ Clint would not be able to handle it if Stark was having some sort of torrid affair with this kid. He looked like jailbait. Of course Stark’s conquests normally slept upstairs, _in his bed_. Wait. Did he say apá? _Oh fuck, that is so much worse._ “Explain.”

Stark huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. The kid squirmed, Clint’s hand still clutching his t-shirt tightly. Steve looked completely lost, but then, isn’t that how Steve always looked these days? It was nearly a minute before Stark spoke.

“He’s my son.”

_Yup. So much worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this will either be a long fic, a series, or you know, deleted in a month if no one likes. Comments so I know which? Please?


	2. Put It On His Left

This was not how Roosevelt wanted to meet the Avengers.

“Say that again.” The half-naked one was obviously slow on the up take. “Because it sounded like you just said you had a son.”

“Yeah, I did. I do, right there.” Tony pointed for emphasis.

“Not possible.”

“Maybe not the way you do it.”

“Shield’s file on you is two feet thick. We would know if you had a kid.” Barton finally let go of him and Roosevelt fell back onto the couch. Way too much sunlight was streaming in the floor to ceiling windows for the headache he was already sporting. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Maybe he could will them all away and continue to sleep.

“Two.”

“What?”

“Two. I have two children.” Tony smiled proud. “This is the newer model.”

Yes, because when your dad is Tony Stark, you will forever be referred to like you're a piece of tech. At least it enabled him to tease his sister for being 'the prototype'. While his father and his attacker bickered, Roosevelt snuck a peak at Captain America standing off to the side. Damn, he was beautiful. _No wonder grandpa Howard was so obsessed with this guy, check out those arms._

“How did you hide this from the Director?”

“I put it on his left.”

Roosevelt sat up and tried not to think about how the secret agent right behind him had his gun. The gun his best friend had taken him out to buy, after he confessed how terrified he was. He trained for hours, days, _weeks_ to learn how to shoot it properly. Only to have it snatched from him, quick as lightning. So much for self-defense.

“What’s your name, young man?” The Captain spoke up, staring right at him, silencing the others.

“Roosevelt, sir.” He tried not to squirm under the man’s gaze. He looked to his dad, who nodded at his unspoken question. “Roosevelt Stark.” He doesn't normally go by that surname, just in case someone put two and two together, but he has always liked it better than Lewis. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Steve Rogers. I work with your father.”

“Yeah, I know. I uh, know all about the Avengers and SHIELD, sir.”

“Who taught you to use the sir word?” His father interrupted. “I definitely didn’t program that.”

“How do you know about SHIELD?” The agent questioned behind him. Roosevelt turned to look at the man and yup, still half-naked. _Don’t ogle his chest. Don’t ogle his chest. Don’t- damn._ The teen blinked and tried to regain focus.

“Stark.” He said, as if it answered everything. In truth he had hacked JARVIS when he was sixteen and wanted to know everything about his father’s new friends. He wasn’t happy to find all the other heroes were just as unstable as his dad. Which is saying something.

The Captain laughed, because apparently that _did_ answer everything, but the agent didn’t look as amused.

“What are you doing here, Ro?” His father asked after a pause.

Oh they were _so_ not having that conversation with people around. “What? Am I not allowed to visit my dear old dad from time to time?” He opted to say instead, knowing all Tony would hear was-

“Hey, I am not old!” He huffed. “Go to your room!”

Roosevelt laughed, “I’d love to. Just remind me where it is again, yeah? Before the remodel it was right down the hall and now... Did you take up ballet, dad?”

Tony had that deer in the headlights look that confirmed everything. He didn’t move his room. He _removed_ it. “A lot of things-“

“Save it.” Of course his and his sister's bedrooms would have to go to make room for all the Avengers. It was just nice to know they always had their own space in each of his father's residences, even if they often went unused.

“Well, I was going to cook breakfast for everyone” The Captain said with a smile. “Are you hungry Roosevelt?” The thought of eating only made him more nauseous, but he sort of got lost in the hero’s gorgeous eyes and found himself nodding yes. “Great, we can all get to know each other over pancakes and maybe you could fill us in on why you’re here.”

Yeah, the last thing he needed was this national treasure and shirtless shield agent asking questions. _So not going to go well._  He wouldn't tell them the truth obviously, he might not even tell his dad the truth, but his not-quite-a-lie cover story would still get him in trouble. How embarrassing would it be if he got chewed out in front of the earth's mightiest? Plus it's always easier to keep your story straight when not being scrutinized by incredibly attractive superheroes.

At least he’d get to text Sam that Captain America made him breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense, this is my first time posting anything. So go easy on me?


	3. Cheesy Death Threats

Clint _had_ been hit in the head several times in yesterday’s hydra attack, maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe this was all part of some big Loki scheme. Or he was still sleeping.

Because there was no way Tony Stark – the tabloid-raised narcissist, world renowned playboy, and least secretive superhero since Johnny Storm – had kept having children (plural) from not only every celebrity rag to disgrace this country, but from SHIELD – the only clandestine agency to have a paramilitary instillation on the _moon_.

Roosevelt sat there, in nothing but his boxer briefs and a white t-shirt, watching Steve pull pancake ingredients from the cabinets in the kitchen. He had thick dark hair that stuck up at every angle, probably on account of sleeping on their couch, and expressive chocolate eyes. His lips, his brow, his cheeks; they were _all_ Tony. Only his jaw was unfamiliar.

No, Clint’s subconscious couldn’t dream up this perfect of a Stark Spawn. And, you know, Loki was dead. This kid was the real deal. A least that’s what his gut said.

“Psst, Birdman.”

“What Stark?”

“You get a pass this time,” Tony started in, now that it was just the two of them in the living room, “because I _totally_ understand that you couldn't have known he was mine, but just so we’re clear: if I ever see you pointing a gu– _any_ weapon at my kid again -”

“You’re gonna throw me outta window?” Clint couldn't help his smirk. “Are cheesy death threats a thing with your family? Because you shoulda _heard_ what your son said to me.” 

 

* * *

 

 

 _I wonder if Captain America is into queer college dropouts with trust funds and inferiority complexes_ , Roosevelt thought as he eyed they super soldier’s backside while the latter turned on the stove top. He only felt slightly skeevy doing so, but he had all kinds of teenage hormones he could blame. Not to mention he was his father’s son.

“Swiss cheese? Really?” Tony fixed him with an incredulous look as he sat down on the barstool next to him. He was wearing sweatpants and a wife-beater, an outfit the Stark children have always associated with their daddy.

“Oh god, I know.” Roosevelt groaned, realizing that he did in fact say that. He hid his face in his hands, partly out of shame partly because his massive hangover was not happy with his father’s volume.

“I’ve been teaching you shittalk since your first words and _that’s_ what you go with?” Tony continued as if Roosevelt hadn’t spoken. According to his father, the first understandable thing he had ever said was ‘douche’, which was only the start of his career in colorful swearing, but his mother assured him that Tony was full of shit and his first word was something completely innocent. Though she never said what.

“It was a line in a TV movie I saw once… all I could think of.” Roosevelt had watched the action movie at three in the morning with his buddies and, thanks to how much pot he had smoked, thought the line was incredibly hilarious.

“Yeah, your downright shameful attempt at wit isn’t what’s most concerning about all this, but we’ll talk about that later.” To anyone else, his father would have sounded light hearted, but Roosevelt knew he was in deep shit. _He wants to know why I sleep with a gun under my pillow now._ “You still like chocolate chip pancakes with whip cream?”

“Uh, no, because I am 18 now and I eat big-boy pancakes, remember?”

“Right, right.” His dad nodded along, no doubt recalling the great IHOP shouting match of 2009. “Hey Cap?”

Steve was mixing ingredients now, leaning against the counter with his feet crossed at the ankles. “Yes Tony?”

“Do you think you could manage chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Well I’ve never made them before and I’m not sure you’ve got the in-”

“No, no, they’re easy to make,” His father jumped up from his seat and went to help the Captain before Roosevelt could protest. “And we’ve always got the ingredients for chocolate chip pancakes.”

 _Of course_ his dad would have the kitchen stocked with his favorite food, even though his bedroom had been replaced with a fucking dance studio. It made  _perfect_ sense. To a mad man. The half-naked secret agent took the seat Tony had just vacated and pulled an undoubtedly soggy bowl of cereal from the other end of the breakfast bar to himself.

“So what _are_ you doing here?” The archer asked.

“Like I said, I just came to visit my dad.”

“And you, what? Don’t have a cellphone?”

“It was a last minute sort of thing.”

“Well, sorry for the unpleasant wake-up. Wouldn’t have happened if you had just called ahead.”

“Apology not accepted. You stretched out my t-shirt and I nearly pissed myself. Not cool, man.” The archer raised an eyebrow in his direction, but didn’t respond. Roosevelt really couldn’t help looking the man up and down. His arms were huge and veiny, something Roosevelt had long ago decided he liked. His abs were just demanding to be touched and his baby blues were… still looking right at him. _Fuck._ “Uhm, d-do you like pancakes?” _Smooth Ro, real smooth._

The archer just smirked and went back to his soggy breakfast. _Why the hell is my dad living with two extremely attractive men who are only_ _slightly too old for me? It's not fair._ Rooselvelt had seen their pictures before sure, hell, he had read most of their files, but that didn’t really compare to seeing the superheroes in person. _If Thor shows up I might start drooling._

Right then, the elevator dinged and out walk the most beautiful – and most deadly - woman Roosevelt had ever seen. _I don’t know how my dad does it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry! I hadn't realized people were reading this, but once I read some of the comments I immediately started on the next few chapters. I plan on posting a new chapter once a week, more than one if I have the motivation.


	4. Chocolate Chocolate Chip Pancakes

Natalia Alianovna Romanova; the Black Widow; agent of SHIELD, former KGB, and one of the deadliest assassins in the world (a title Roosevelt would have mocked before he had become frighteningly familiar with her work history) was currently giving him _a look_.

She had come off the elevator, along with one Dr. Bruce Banner, walked right past him and started helping Steve and Tony without so much as a ‘who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?’ If Roosevelt hadn’t been so terrified of - and attracted to – her he might have found it funny. Barton had waited a full twenty seconds before shouting out who Roosevelt was, causing Dr. Banner to choke on his coffee.

When all the food was cooked his father brought him a plate while the other Avengers served themselves, and reclaimed the seat Barton had stolen. There were fluffy scrambled eggs, sausage, toast, and buttermilk pancakes for everyone; but his plate had a large pile of eggs, two sausages, and three chocolate chocolate chip pancakes complete with a dollop of whip cream. He didn’t know whether to shout at his dad that he was _not_ a little kid anymore or hug him for remembering.

Dr. Banner took the seat on Roosevelt’s left and Steve sat next to Tony. The Widow pulled a stool around into the kitchen and sat directly across from him and his father, like she was preparing for an interrogation. Barton planted his ass up on the far counter next to the stove, rippling his stomach in a way that _should_ have been unattractive, but was definitely not. _What do I gotta do to get a serving of that?_

The Widow raised one delicate eyebrow at him and Roosevelt hoped, not for the first time, that mind readers weren’t a thing. He added salt and ketchup to his eggs and, despite the slightly nauseous feeling, took a bite.

“The food is great Mr. Rogers”

“Thank you, Roosevelt, but please call me Steve.”

_First name basis with Captain America! Fuck yeah._

“Excuse me, but who taught you manners?” Tony interjected. “I swear guys, he isn’t normally like this.”

“Well, I for one am enjoying the politeness.” Steve said with a bright smile, “Your father has never been very courteous, your grandfather neither. I was beginning to think it was genetic.”

Tony rolled his eyes emphatically, but Roosevelt granted him a small laugh “My dad has a point, I typically take after him. Meeting the Avengers though, I gotta be on my best behavior for that.”

“I am curious about why we haven’t met until now.” The Captain shot an odd look at the engineer then and Roosevelt felt like he was missing something important. “I wasn’t even aware Tony had children.”

 “Don’t take it personally." He said, tasting the hypocrisy in his words. "I think there are only a handful of people who know about me and my sister.”

“Tony Stark with a daughter” Dr. Banner muttered, “You have to be kidding me.”

“They lived with their mother. No one knows for their own protection.” Tony said, sparing Roosevelt from having to explain their situation. “I’m sure you all can understand.”

He had only ever told one person who his father was and Sam was more interested in how Roosevelt felt about it than anything else. He wasn’t sure how normal people were supposed to react when they found out Tony didn’t even _want_ custody of them, that he was _pressured_ into spending as much time with them as did. Roosevelt had dragged the five-foot-tall trebuchet Tony had built him into the middle of their cul-de-sac, doused it in lighter fluid, and flicked a match at the stupid thing when he learned the truth. But then, he had only been nine at the time.

“Where is it you’re visiting from, son?” Captain America asked, totally ruining every erotic fantasy Roosevelt had ever had about him, and ending the awkward silence.

“Not far,” He snorted, “Morning Side Heights, I live on campus.”

“You go to Columbia?”

“Yes sir. I-I mean, Steve.”

“You must be very proud, Tony.” There was that odd look again.

“Their engineering program is abysmal.” Tony said with his mouth full.

“Well then it’s a damn good thing I didn’t choose them for their engineering program, isn’t it?” Roosevelt spat. He was sick of having that conversation. “And SEAS is one of the best in the country.”

“Oh please, they’re ranked 15th.”

“How pretentious do you have to be to think ranking 15th is bad? They all can’t rank number one, you know.”

“Top five would have been acceptable.”

“Acceptable? Do you even hear yourself?”

“Of course, it’s all I ever hear.”

Roosevelt might have actually growled at that. “You’re such an ass. Columbia isn’t MIT, I get it. What you don’t seem to get is I am not an engineering major.” His father didn’t need to know that he was seriously considering a program at Columbia’s School of Engineering and Applied Sciences – If they let him back in that was. “This argument is futile.”

No one spoke. Steve looked like he was deeply regretting his politeness comment; Dr. Banner suddenly found his toast very fascinating, and Barton was trying to hide a smile. Only the Widow was maintaining eye contact. Roosevelt wished she wouldn't.

Speaking softly into his coffee mug, though in the sudden silence he might as well have been shouting, Tony had to have the last word: “What’s futile is Columbia's computer science research.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who is showing up next chapter?! I'll give you a hint, he leaves a sticky white substance all over New York City whenever he goes out and he has a nice ass. A very nice ass.


	5. A Hungover Idiot

Roosevelt had been bickering with his father for as long as he could remember. His grandfather said he never quite grew out of throwing temper tantrums. His grandmother said Tony instigated it with childish behavior. He thought they were both reading a little too deep into simple family squabbles.

“Oh my god” He laughed more freely than he had in months. “It is, isn’t it?”

No, a raised voice never did him any harm. It was always the quiet that hurt. His father would sometimes get so focused on his work that he forgot everything else, even his children on occasion. And Roosevelt knew from personal experience that the vilest words were whispered, not shouted.

“Could be worse,” Tony smiled, “Have you heard about what Berkeley has going on in their energy labs? Hopeless.”

“Geez, if that’s what you guys think about SEAS and RAEL,” a new voice said from behind them, “I’d hate to hear what you have to say about Empire State’s robotics research.”

Roosevelt turned to see a pajama clad brunette making his way to the kitchen area with a smirk on his face. He was tall, barefoot, and had hair that obviously hadn’t been combed in a while. _Who is this?_

“Morning sunshine”

“Good morning, sport”

“Sup kid”

_Who the heck is this?_

“Morning, Peter”

“Hey Peter”

_Who the heck is Peter?_

The stranger mumbled his hellos to everyone else and then looks expectantly at Roosevelt. He appeared too young to be any of the Avenger’s ‘significant other’ and too old to be one of their children. He wasn’t dressed professionally and obviously just awoke; meaning not an SI employee.

“Uh” The stranger looked a bit put off by Roosevelt’s hungover ‘thinking face’, which was little more than a crumpled pout. “Hey?”

“You’re not Thor.”

Okay, so he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Shoot him. Or, more helpfully, shoot Barton who was now laughing wholeheartedly. Thankfully this Peter kid didn’t seem to mind. “No, but I can understand the confusion. We do look a lot alike.”

They really didn’t. Roosevelt wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders this too-bright morning and perhaps that was why he couldn’t think of another reason there would be a young, moderately-toned, male sleeping in Stark Tower. None except – but _no_. It can’t be him. He was too young to be _him_ , surely.

“Petey” Tony said, clearing his throat. “It is my esteemed honor to introduce you to the fruit of my loins.”

 _Oh for fuck’s sake._ His father did not just say that to _Spider-Man_. Roosevelt groaned and smacked his head down on the counter, narrowly missing his mostly untouched breakfast. “Do not call me that. Ever.”

Barton was practically in hysterics.

“Oh, come on Rosie.” Tony said, “No point in denying it.”

“In fact, do not say ‘loins’ ever again.”

“Tony, I think you’re embarrassing the boy.” Steve interjected.

“No, no, when he is embarrassed he turns bright red. He’s fine.”

Roosevelt only lifted his head when he realized hopefully-not-Spider-Man hadn’t said a thing. Peter was looking at him with wide eyes and a raised brow. _Looks like I am going to have to initiate this._ He reached over the table and offered his hand to the guy, who was standing at the Widow’s side.

“Roosevelt Stark, apparently the fruit of an idiot.”

“Peter” He said, gripping his hand tightly. Like, too tightly. He looked to Tony before continuing. “Peter Parker, not the fruit of anything.”

“Sorry, I have to know. Who are you really? I mean, I’m in a room surrounded by superheroes. So which one are you?”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Peter took a step back and stared at him like _he_ was the idiot. Which admittedly wasn’t a big stretch; one doesn’t just ask a superhero their secret identity, or vice versa.

“Who said I was a superhero? I didn’t say I was a superhero.”

The Widow was still giving him an indecipherable look; Barton had stopped laughing, but was definitely still amused; Bruce was calm as a fucking cucumber.

“No, no, of course not.” Roosevelt rolled his eyes. “Just because you’re living with the Avengers doesn’t mean you’re _one_ of them; how ridiculous an assumption.”

“Who said I’m living with them?” Wow this guy sucked at lying, maybe he wasn’t Spider-Man.

Roosevelt eyed the dude’s _Adventure Time_ PJs like they spoke for themselves. Which they did. “Not a soul.” He said. “Never mind.” He went back to picking at his food and he could see, out of the corner of his eye, Peter turn and begin making himself a plate.

It was at this point that Roosevelt Stark began to think that the rage and alcohol he was filled with last night had severely hindered his ability to reason. Deciding to ‘visit dad’ and ‘take a break’ were not seeming like the best ideas now that he was sober. What had he thought? That the freaking _Avengers_ were just gonna be _chill_ with him hanging out and lounging around their place for the next week or so? He was an idiot. A hungover idiot. And the Widow was _still_ giving him a look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse. I thought I could update regularly. I couldn't and now school is starting again so I don't know when the next chapter will come. And I know this one kinda sucks, but I had to give you guys s o m e t h i n g after all this time.


	6. Now The Lies Begin

The rest of breakfast passed rather quickly for Roosevelt, only mildly interested in the food or conversation, both upsetting his stomach. He skirted the Captain’s attempts at small talk like he was born for it. He ignored the Widow’s _look_ and Hawkeye’s _everything_. Not-Spider-Man seemed to be in a mood which, after all the hours of spectator footage Roosevelt had watched of the webslinger in action, was a great disappointment.

Thankfully the younger Stark felt oddly at ease sitting between his father and Dr. Banner. After the year he had, everything that had happened at school and during the summer, every rare moment where he felt safe – truly safe, not just the illusion of safety – was clung to. He wondered if nothing but a penthouse full of superheroes would ever make him feel so secure again.

Eventually a throat was cleared and plates were deposited into the sink. Roosevelt offered to do the dishes (his mother didn’t let Tony corrupt him entirely), but Cap declined. One by one the Avengers left with awkward excuses until it was just the uninvited guest, his father, and the super soldier.

“Perhaps I should give you two a moment.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck like he was unsure if that’s what he should actually do. “I’ll be upstairs.”

Tony didn’t say anything, didn’t even look back at the man. He just waited until Steve was gone and then took a seat on the couch. Roosevelt knew that was his cue to sit as well.

“What’s going on kid?”

“Is it really so weird that I came to visit?”

“No, but you’re ducking my questions and you didn’t call.”

“I broke my phone. Haven’t fixed it yet.”

“See? Like that. That’s not an honest answer. Give me some credit; I can tell when you’re not okay, you know.”

Roosevelt contemplated if lying to his father, on top of everything else he was dealing with, was really worth the stress. Then again, his father was the proprietor of some of the most advanced weaponry on the planet and hot-headedness ran in the family. Any threat to the littlest Stark could (and probably would) be met with nothing short of deadly force. Roosevelt wasn’t sure he wanted that on his conscience just yet. “I haven’t been having the best time at school, okay? I needed to get away for a while.” _Not exactly a lie._

“Did something happen?”

 _Oh god._ “N-no, not, not exactly” _He can see it on my face, can’t he?_ “It’s… It’s more like an accumulation of somethings. I.. shit.” He had to pause and take a deep breath. “It’s just little stuff. Everything seems to be going wrong. Shit’s falling apart like I knocked over a domino or something. I’m stressed.”

“Tell me about it.” Tony didn’t like emotions on himself, or other people for the most part. He pushed them away, pretended they didn’t exist. He often floundered in the face of emotional need, but not always. When it came to his kids, he could muster enough courage to ignore his own anxiety and comfort them. Right now he offered Roosevelt a sad smile and put an arm around his shoulder.

“I’m failing two classes; comparative lit and Latin American history.”

“English and History? Those are your favorite subjects.”

“I just got behind, I guess, and couldn’t catch up.” It took him a second to realize his father acknowledged his preference for the liberal arts and humanities over science and mathematics. He chose take it as a step in the right direction, but didn’t comment. “Emilie broke up with me. She said I was… inattentive? I think. Maybe.” He felt his dad chuckle more than he heard it and leaned back against his side. “I think she got bored of me.”

“Impossible.”

“I lost my job.”

“You had a job?” Now it was Rosie’s turn to laugh. “Why did you have a job? You have a Black Card. Do you know how hard it was for me to get you a Black Card without any questions asked? Not hard at all actually; I get everything.”

“Yeah well, I wanted to know what it was like to live off my own money… So I donated a shitload of yours to a LGBT youth shelter and applied at Starbucks.”

“So you’re saying you can make me one of those pumpkin spice lattes?”

“You don’t need any more caffeine and you know it.”

“Is there anything else you wanna tell me?”

“Uhm, I punched a teammate in the face and got kicked off the team, I didn’t get accepted to that internship I wanted, I subscribed Gramps to a ton of political magazines just to piss him off because he said something stupid to me a while back, and the gym I go to near campus closed down. Oh and my asthma is back with a vengeance.”

“Damn Kid.” Tony wrapped both arms around his son and pulled him in for a proper hug. “I’m sorry. I wish I could make it all better. Actually, I can. You want a football team? I’ll buy you a football team. I’ll get you any internship you want. I’ll send your grandparents on a cruise to the arctic if it’ll shut them up.”

“Appreciated apá, but I don’t think throwing money at all my problems is the answer.” His voice was a little muffled as he had his head buried against his dad’s chest. “I’ll figure it all out. Don’t worry.”

“What about the gun?”

 _Shit_.

“Should I worry about that?” Tony wasn’t going to let him leave without an answer, but Roosevelt was able to pull away from his father’s arms. “Why do you have it Ro?”

_Now the lies begin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not fully edited yet, but I wanted to write and post this one while I'm between essays. comments/kudos make me update faster. so does offering to do my homework for me :D kidding. not really.


	7. The Truth Isn't An Option

His first instinct was to distance himself. He ran his hands down his face and then through his hair before standing up and walking away from his father. He wandered to the wall of windows, where he could see all of Brooklyn if he bothered to look past the glass. His reflection shone in the morning light and he couldn’t help but lock eyes with himself.

Telling the truth isn’t an option.

He took a deep breath, putting his story together quickly in his head. Tony was quiet behind him, still seated across the room. Roosevelt could feel his stare, not that it made a difference. He knew what he had to say in order for his father to stop asking questions and he knew it was going to hurt. His resolve would not break. He steeled his expression and turned to tell his tale.

It only took one look from his dad to make him chicken out.

He dropped his gaze to the marble floor and shrugged. An audible huff could be heard.

“That’s not an answer.” Tony waited, but Roosevelt stayed silent. “I need to know what’s going on with you.” The younger Stark wanted to laugh at that. “Tell me what’s happened.” The engineer was getting angry now, moving from the couch closer to his son. “Roosevelt!”

“Nothing” The teen mumbled. “Nothing’s happened.”

“That’s obviously not true!” Tony was just feet away now, something akin to pleading in his voice. “Tell me why you brought a gun with you. Tell me why you have one at all!”

The yelling wasn’t helping Roosevelt’s head. He needed this conversation over and it hadn’t even truly begun yet.

“Look at me when I am talking to you.” His father said, trying for stern, but just sounding like an ass. He complied none the less. The glare he sent clearly unnerved the older man. “Say something, please.”

“Fine. It’s you. You happened.” Roosevelt felt cold. “I went out and bought a gun because of you.”

Tony took a step back. “What are you talking about?”

“I watched your house get blown to ruble on national fucking television, dad! We all thought you were dead! Those ‘enemies’ you always said could never get to me and Darc? Cause you would always be there to protect us? Well they fucking got _you!_ Okay?! I thought I watched you die! And even when we knew you were alive…”

His now erratic breathing was the only thing that made Roosevelt stop yelling, definitely not the pained expression his father wore. Definitely not that, he lied to himself.

“Oh Rosie…”

“No! Fuck you! You don’t get to say the same old crap about being able to handle anything. You’re not fucking invincible, dipshit! I’m not untouchable.” His voice cracked and only then did he realize his words. He took another deep breath to try and calm down. “They can get to us. They already did. So yeah, I bought a gun. I sleep with it under my pillow. Always. I look over my shoulder everywhere I go. I’m afraid. I’m afraid one day someone will find out my real last name, notice I look exactly like a young Tony Stark, see me using that Black Card and start _asking questions_. I’m afraid they’ll take me like they did Pepper and try to _use me_ against you! I’m _so_ – _fucking_ – afraid.”  He wiped the wetness under his eyes away with his palms, not fully recognizing it for what it was. He sounded hoarse, too much emotion in his words. “So don’t you dare try to scold me for not confiding in you, for not telling you about one little handgun, Mr. weapons manufacturer. You walking fucking arsenal. I’m afraid. And it’s all _your_ fault.”

 

* * *

 

Tony wanted his suit. He wanted to put on his armor and go to war with his son’s demons. The monsters of his nightmares. Anyone with even the potential to do his children harm. He’d take them all out. Then his little boy could rest easy. He would never have to see his Rosie shed another tear. He wanted to fix this.

Fix what he fucked up.

Letting his child live in fear. What a fucking bastard. Tony had swore to himself that his kids would never know what it was like to have a constant target on their back, what it was like to be threatened with death, abducted, held for ransom – things that were familiar to him during his own childhood. Being the heir to a war mongering billionaire was dangerous.

Being the loved ones of a superhero was considerably more so. And clearly he had not been able to assure his youngest – his baby boy – that he could protect him from that danger. That he could keep him safe.

This _was_ all Tony’s fault.

 

* * *

 

Roosevelt wanted reassurance that the silence only felt like it went on forever, that in reality it was only seconds. If it was only seconds, they were the longest ones of his life. He peeled his gaze away from his dad’s wide eyes, unable to look at him anymore, knowing how much those words must have stung.

It was then that Tony finally reacted. He closed the gap between them and pulled Roosevelt into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, kid.” He whispered into Rosie’s ear “I never wanted you to feel like that. I love you and I’m so sorry.”

Roosevelt returned the hug, feeling numb and guilty, but none the less grateful.

_He bought it._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just put myself in the garbage. Sorry for the wait.


	8. Excessive Is What We Do Best

Roosevelt let his father pet his hair like he was a puppy and spew out the same old bullshit about knowing how to take down a bad guy or two. It was hard to listen. In the end, after Tony thought he had the teenager convinced his life was not in any jeopardy, Ro conceded to letting his dad get him a ‘more efficient’ instrument for self-defense, but absolutely _refused_ when Tony offered to make Happy his own personal bodyguard. As much as he loved the guy, having that hulking bigmouth follow him to all his classes and eating with him in the dining hall was just going to make him feel like more of a freak. Hogan would understand. He was his godfather after all.

“Is it okay if I stay for a while?” Roosevelt asked, hopefully. The outside world might be a scary place for a child of the Avengers, but apparently nothing felt better than being in the eye of the storm.

“Look kid, I know you’re going through a hard time at school right now, but you need to go back. You education is really important, alright? You can’t just flake out on this.” Said the patron saint of flaking out. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to pull your grades out of the gutter.”

“Yeah dad, I’m very aware of all that, but spring break starts Monday and I don’t have class today.” Well, only half of that was true. “Can I just… I mean, I know I don’t have a bedroom here anymore-”

“Oh! Spring break! Yes, no don’t be silly, of course you can stay!” His father said in an excited rush, “I’d love to have you stick around. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be somewhere else though? Like on a beach with a couple half-naked co-eds?”

Roosevelt laughed, “Uh, I’m kinda not over my last tryst with a half-naked co-ed.” The memory came flooding back, surprisingly vivid. With a pang in his chest he pushed it away, determined to ignore that part of his life until everything else got sorted out. “Plus I don’t think Myrtle Beach and the like would be particularly relaxing.”

“I don’t know, I always seem to have a _great_ time. If you know what I mean.”

“Ew, dad. Gross.” Another mental image Roosevelt did not need.

“Listen, about your old room. I did take it out, I figured with you just across the borough and the Avengers… Yeah, I took it out. But that doesn’t mean for a second that I don’t want you here or that I wasn’t thinking about you. I did have the foresight to put in a few guest suites. I know it’s not exactly the same as a room of your own.”

_Well, aren’t I an asshole._

“No, that’s more than fine. I mean, four bedrooms in one country is kind of excessive, right?” Technically one was a shared dorm room and another had been blown up by terrorists back in December.

“We’re Starks, kiddo” Tony said, “Excessive is what we do best.”

“Oh? I thought that was half-naked co-eds. And to think I’ve been doing it all wrong for years.”

“Heh, I’m sure you’ve been doing just fine. Come on, I’ll show you where you can stay.”

“Okay, just a sec.” Roosevelt gathered his things from where he’d left them in the dark the night before. His travel bag, backpack, and jacket were sitting snugly on an armchair. Under the coffee table he found his discarded jeans and convers. His cell phone and beanie had to be fished out from deep within the cushions of the couch and his flannel shirt somehow ended up on an end table across the room – Roosevelt vaguely recalled trying to use it as a blanket before giving up and tossing the damn thing away from himself.

As he tried to stuff everything into his bag quickly, he noticed the knife Barton had held to his throat just a few hours ago stuck in the wood of the coffee table. It was half hidden in the shadow of an ornate hand blown glass sculpture that sat in the center of the table – doubtfully a decorative item Tony had picked. He pulled it free while his father wasn’t looking and examined just how sharp it was with the pad of his thumb. It felt different now, putting a blade to his own skin rather than having someone else threating his life with one.

Roosevelt shoved it too into his bag and moved the glass piece to cover the deep gouge in the table before catching up to where his father was, climbing into the elevator.

“So me and Cap are upstairs,” Tony began as the elevator began to lower them to the next level. “Thor and Bruce are down one, and everyone else is on this floor.” The doors opened to a wide hallway, reminiscent of an upscale hotel entryway. They walked down to the last door on the left. “This is one of the empty suits, it’s all yours.”

The inside was _very much_ like an upscale New York City hotel, with a little added Stark flare. The walls were white and slightly concave. In the center sat a California king size bed with dark sheets, an extra-large headboard, and an abundance of pillows. On one wall hung a huge flat screen TV, the other held a counter with a microwave and mini fridge framed by two closed doors. The glow of the pre-noon sun flooded the whole room. Tony was right, it wasn’t exactly his old bedroom, but it sure as fuck was twice as big. “Thanks dad.”

“No problem Ro.” The engineer hung out in the doorway as Roosevelt snooped around a bit, discovering the bathroom and walk-in closet. “Hey, you really do know I love you, right?”

Rosie huffed, feeling guilty again. “Yeah, I love you too.”

“Great. Fantastic! Well I’ll let you settle in.” His father had clearly hit his emotional threshold for the day. “I’m going to be in my lab, working on some projects. Top floor, if you need me.” And with that he was gone.

Suddenly alone for the first time that day, Roosevelt began to think of all the choices he made in the past week that led him here. To an impersonal spare room in his father’s shining tower. It really was a domino of unfortunate events. He’d made nothing but bad decisions since _it_ happened, including walking away from his problems last night. Thinking of _it_ , the catalyst to all this, made him itch.

And it reminded him of the archer’s 7-inch hunting knife tucked away in his backpack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the longest so far and I like it the least, but there is actually a lot of important information up there *and* I've already started on the next few chapters so you wont have to wait long. Also, tomorrow is my birthday.


	9. In Morbid Curiosity

After showering and changing into some fresh clothes, Rosie flung himself down on the huge bed in the center of his new room. The comfort of the soft mattress drew attention to the deep ache growing in his shoulders. Apparently designer couches hand crafted for ninety-ninth floor conversation pits in skyscrapers named after billionaire superheroes weren’t made to be slept on. Roosevelt might need another shower to wash off the pretentiousness he had been laying in all night.

Of course he had slept on more uncomfortable surfaces. A sixteen year old Roosevelt Stark had once woken up on a sticky pool table, with a bikini clad girl cuddled up to him on the left and a muscular man half on top of him to the right, only to find the pool cue still shoved under the three of them had left deep red impressions on their bodies. As first college parties go, that one hadn’t been so bad. And compared to a pool table in a frat house, that couch might as well have been a tempur-pedic.

Roosevelt sat up and rummaged through his backpack for his phone charger. To plug the damn thing in the wall without actually getting his lazy ass up off the bed took some work, but he managed to not fall on his face as he half-stretched, half-crawled to the nearest outlet. His StarkPhone lit up blue as it turned on and then chimed half a dozen times. Three new messages and four missed calls since last night, all from the same person. He deleted them unopened.

Sam would still be in class, but Roosevelt couldn’t resist sending a teasing text anyways.

 

SAMMY

I can now say from personal experience

that Captain America is the type to make

you breakfast in the morning ;)

[11:38 AM]

 

He intended for the sexual implication. SAM would only believe it for a second, before calling him out on his bullshit. It would be worth, though. Sam would picture it and turn bright red, imagining the star spangled hero in all his _star spangled glory_.

Being back in the tower didn't give him the same warm feeling he got whenever he arrived at the mansion after a long period away, but seeing his father face to face for the first time since before the attack on his Malibu home - that made him long for his family. Tony had simply facedtimed him after the incident, brushing off the whole ordeal. Roosevelt had hoped they could meet for coffee or maybe lunch, like they used to do when he was a freshman and the tower was just being built, but there have only been sporadic texts and snapchats to remind him that his father didn't actually die.

Rhodey still sent him long emails asking how he was doing and detailing War Machine stories he was sure he shouldn't be allowed to know, but more and more time seemed to pass between them. Pepper, ever the life saver, had actually come to visit him at school only a couple months back. She was in the city on business and thought it would be nice to hand deliver his birthday present. Spending the day with Pepper had almost made up for his sister not even texting him.

Darcy had been... growing distant these last few years. When he was in high school and she in college they had talked every day. Only now does he realize how hard that must have been for her to work into her schedule. She would tell him all about the latest falsehoods she had to read in her history textbooks and how she would sneak into advanced lectures on thermodynamics just to shout out answers and intimidate the science majors, he would tell her about whatever snide comment he got in trouble for telling their grandfather and who was being mean to him at school. She was his favorite person in the world.

It physically hurt him to think about how she had slowly drifted out of his life after she left Culver University. One week they were giggling about how she had her boss convinced she didn't even know what a periodic table _was_ , and the next she was 'too busy' with her 'important research' for her pesky little brother. Being here though, two months passed his birthday without so much as a shout out on facebook - because she still had time for social media didn't she? - he couldn't help getting angry. At least dad was _here_ , where the fuck was _she_.

He sent her a quick 'fuck you' while he had his phone out and was surprised when she replied immediately.

 

FITZWILLIAM

Hey asshole. I'm staying at dad's for a bit.

Not that you care. Hope you're having a

blast in London.

[11:41 AM]

What's that supposed to mean punk?

[11:42 AM]

Oh you're talking to me now?

[11:42 AM]

I don't have time for this.

[11:42 AM]

If something else is bothering you

don't take it out on me. Tell pops

I said hi.

[11:43 AM]

 

Well that backfired. He threw his phone on the floor without responding. He turned the flat screen on and switched channels for a bit, quickly getting bored. He was definitely angry with his sister, that much he was sure of, but maybe texting her was uncalled for. His stress was making him irritable. He hated when she was right.

The flashlight party, new years eve, last night, the god-awful way he woke up this morning - that's what is really getting to him. He had made considerable stride to put the first two behind him. However the latter... He still felt a little shakey about having actually pointed his gun at someone. It was supposed to be for self defense, but in this abstract what-if sort of way. He didn't actually anticipate needing it so soon.

His mind wandered back to the hunting knife. Hawkeye’s hunting knife. He picked it up carefully out his bag and absently wondered, as he turned it over in his hands, if it had taken anyone’s life before. It belonged to a deadly secret agent, after all. Perhaps Barton had used it on a mission. Put it to someone’s neck, like he had Roosevelt’s, and _sliced_. The thought sent shivers down his spine.

Hawkeye’s personnel file wasn’t nearly as terrifying to read as the Widow’s had been, though it included mission reports that could rival most Robert Rodriguez scripts. He needed to get the damn knife out of his room and off his mind. Roosevelt set the thing down at the edge of his bed, turned off the tv, and just stared at it for a good long while, in morbid curiosity. His father _did_ say Barton’s room was on this floor.

“JARVIS?”

**_Yes Young Master Lewis?_ **

“I have something I want to give to… uh… Mr. Hawkeye” _Really Ro? You’re embarrassing yourself in front of the AI._ “Could you tell me where he is, please?”

 ** _Agent Barton_** , Roosevelt could swear he heard a mocking tone in the electronic voice, **_is currently in his private quarters and I am not sure he would appreciate a visitor at this time._**

“Aw come on Jay, who said anything about visiting? Just tell me which door is his, wouldja?”

**_Agent Barton’s quarters are right next to your own, Young Master Lewis._ **

“Thanks Jarv.” He said jumping up from the bed and slipping his shoes on hastily. He picked the knife up once more. _I’ll just return it to him and then go._ The sunlight hit the blade just right and threw a reflection into Roosevelt’s face. Keeping it here would only take his head to dark places. He threw the blade up in the air, caught it delicately by the hilt and tucked it into the back of his jeans before walking out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the last update I have had two surgeries, broken my laptop, and made a short film. So please don't kill me.


End file.
